-Chapter 4-
A million thoughts were running through Scar's head at once as she lay on the cold stone ground. The furry gray heap of a rat loomed over her, his jaws bared in a snarl.
As she had done so countless times before with other gnawers she had fought with, whether it was a play-fight or a real one, she mirrored his image and growled back. For a second, human and rat wore the same expression, and then the rat spoke.
"You're a human."
No shit, Sherlock. Scar rolled her eyes. "Yes, I am."
"What are you doing here?"
Oh, I'm just here enjoying the view. What do you think, dumbass?
"I live here." She said these words with a hint of revulsion and reluctance, because until very recently, she had made her home somewhere entirely different. It wasn't easy, being held somewhere against your will.
The rat raised an eyebrow. "Not right here, surely?" he questioned. Scar stared at him, disbelief etched across her face. This rat was more idiotic than she had come to think.
"No, I—" she started to speak, but stopped when she saw the amusement glittering in his eyes. He was making fun of her.
The human girl crossed her arms and scowled, still laying on the floor. "Shut up," she told the rat. "Do you think I want to be here, cowering at the feet of a fluffy giant?"
"Fluffy giant?" the rat growled questioningly. "Is that an insult?"
Scar snorted.
"So what if it is?" she demanded, sliding into a sitting position. The rat made no movement to stop her. She stood up completely. "Well, if you're not going to shred me to pieces, I've got somewhere to get back to." Even if it's worse than living in the Dead Lands, she added the last part to herself, and made to leave.
"Hold it," the gnawer commanded, slapping his tail in front of her to prevent her from leaving. Scar winced as it hit her hard in the shoulder, but didn't make a sound. "You're not going anywhere yet."
Scar wheeled around to face the creature, narrowing her eyes. She clenched a fist. "Why is that?"
All was silent for a moment, and then, unexpectedly, the rat began to laugh. The small snicker turned into a chuckle, and before Scar knew it, the beast was guffawing like there was no tomorrow. Her jaw dropped a bit into an expression of shock.
"You are not like other humans, are you?" the rat observed between his spasms of hilarity. What exactly did he find so funny?
No, Scar wanted to say. I'm definitely not. Other humans didn't spend half their lives as the spawn of a gnawer, and then get kicked out by their adopted guardian, leaving them no choice but to go and live the life they should have been living all along.
But all that wasn't something she could just blurt out loud to a gnawer, so she maintained an angry silence. The rat cocked his head, and finally stopped laughing.
"What's your name, human?" he asked. Scar placed her hands stubbornly on her hips.
"What's yours, rat?" The girl rebuked, choosing not to answer his question.
For a second Scar thought the gnawer would start chortling again, but he didn't. On the contrary, he narrowed his eyes.
"I'm called Scythe." He answered. "Now are you going to tell me yours, or do I have to threaten it out of you?"
His words were obviously meant to scare Scar, but they did far from it. She was used to threats worse than that, and the rat had already proved that he was not in a hurry to kill her, or else he would have done so already.
"Scar," she answered simply. Scythe's expression was mildly surprised.
"Scar? Your name is Scar?" he repeated. Scar gave a brisk nod. Scythe continued. "Sounds more like a gnawer's name to me."
The thirteen-year-old was careful not to let her face betray what she was feeling. "That's because from when I was born to about a week ago, I lived with gnawers, and they named me for this," she lifted up a chunk of her still un-brushed silver blonde hair to display the silvery crescent shaped Scar that crossed her eye. Scythe looked pretty astonished.
"You lived with rats, did you?"
"Yes." And before she knew it, Scar was blurting out her entire past to the rat she had only just met. She had no clue why she felt like she could tell him all of this, when he had been threatening her just a few minutes previous. Her guess at that time was that she was desperate for the company of something familiar to her, and rats were the only creatures she had ever seemed to fit in and get along with, crazy as that sounds. But whatever the reason, Scythe heard all of Scar's troubles and memories, and, oddly enough, he listened intently as she spoke. When she had finished, she took a breath.
"Now it's your turn. Why are you hiding here, in the walls of a human city?" she asked him. He looked as though he had been expecting that question.
"It's because I was banished." He began. "And I wasn't going to just go to the Uncharted Lands to die. I had a life to salvage, and I wasn't going to just drop it. And I found a way into the city through a tunnel, and it led me here." Scar's eyes were wide. "At night I sneak out through the crevice you came in to steal food. A pitiful life, but it's the best I can do for now."
Scar had pretty much stopped listening after he said there was a way into the city through a tunnel. "A way in? You haven't told any other rats about it, have you?" she demanded, a bit bothered by the thought that Silvertail might send a force into Regalia to find and kill her. Scythe gave a short snicker.
"Not a chance," he answered. "The only other rat I've spoken to since my banishment is my mate. She still lives with the rest of the gnawers."
Scar was still unsettled. "And does she know about this?'
Scythe nodded. "Yes, but she swore she wouldn't tell a soul. And I know she'll keep her word."
Well, that was a little better. "Just make sure no one else gets in," she told the rat. By his expression, she could tell he guessed why she was nervous.
"I will," he agreed. He lifted his nose and took a sniff. "You'd better go. Dawn is coming."
Scar nodded. Suddenly, Scythe threw her against the wall. She stared, bewildered, into his black eyes.
"You know how important it is that I am not found here, don't you?" he snarled. Scar nodded. "Good," his tone was less menacing again. "Bye."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Jett had half expected Scar to not be in the house when he woke up that morning. He guessed—well, more like hoped—that she had decided to leave this place for good and go back to live with her ratty friends. Or, even better, maybe she had decided she wasn't wanted anywhere and had launched herself off a cliff or something. Maybe some scouts would find her body, broken and bleeding, at the bottom of one sometime today. Or maybe…
Jett pulled out of his morbid thoughts and slapped himself in the head in disbelief. What was he thinking? Much as he hated Scar, he didn't want her to kill herself! He wasn't one to ill-wish people, however much he despised them.
The boy dragged himself out of his bed and down the stairs into the sitting room. His dad was out already, but his mom was still there. She pushed a bowl of fruit towards him.
"Hurry up and eat, when you are through I want you to go wake up Scar." She instructed him. Jett grumbled. He had a very strong urge to tell his mother to 'go wake up the rat yourself, I'm not doing it,' but kept his mouth shut and settled on eating his breakfast as slow as he possibly could. His mother gave an exasperated sigh.
"Hurry up, Jett," she repeated. "I do not have all day to hang around here, and I want you both to be awake when I leave."
Jett sighed and picked up the pace at which he shoved his melon into his mouth. After he had finished the sweet fruit, he rose from his seat and trudged up the two flights of stairs that led to the attic room where Scar had settled.
He didn't bother knocking; he just barged into the room and looked around.
The bed that had been wedged into the corner was unoccupied, and all the blankets had been stripped off of the bed. Jett couldn't say he was surprised. She had probably made a nest or something like that.
His gaze drifted across the room and he almost leapt into the air in bewilderment as he caught a pair of eyes staring him down from under a pile of blankets that had been assembled in the farthest corner of the room; orbs of the deepest, darkest violet.
Well, she was already awake.
"You have to come downstairs now. My mother wants you awake before she leaves," he told her, and then allowed his feet to carry him out of the room as fast as they could go.
But a voice right behind him startled him again.
"Wait."
He swung around and nearly jumped once again. She was standing directly behind him, as if she had been there the whole time.
How did she do that?
Jett turned around again and took the steps two at a time back down. He hated to admit it, but she was creeping him out.
When the two of them god downstairs, Jett's mother was waiting. She plastered on a warm smile and sent it in Scar's direction.
"Good morning, Scar," she said, speaking softly but kindly. Scar was silent for a moment, and Jett wondered what she would do.
And then, miraculously—
"Hello."
Scar had spoken gruffly and coolly, but she had greeted them nonetheless. It was like finally making a breakthrough in discovering the cure to a rare disease; were they finally making some progress?
His mom looked delighted for a second. "I've brought you some new clothes, dear. Would you like to try them on?" she asked.
But Scar just narrowed her eyes.
"No."
Well, so much for the breakthrough.